


The beginning was quiet

by what_a_dork_fish



Series: Ineffable Fluffies [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: First Crush, Fluff, look I don't know why I like this headcanon so much I just DO
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-10 20:53:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19515382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_a_dork_fish/pseuds/what_a_dork_fish
Summary: Aziraphale sat still, the jam a memory, the delicious odor of his tea not nearly good enough to drive away the guilt.And then he felt something… pluck at him. Something small. Something familiar.





	The beginning was quiet

**Author's Note:**

> You think I know what I'm doing???????

Aziraphale was created 124.8 years after God decided She was lonely and wanted some company. He was made from the warm dust of a passing comet, and his first memory, after the endless dreaminess of being created, was of a bright figure saying, “Hello, little one. Welcome to Heaven.”

A soft laugh that seemed to come from everywhere made the newborn Aziraphale look around, curious. “Raphael, you don’t need to greet them all.”

The bright figure helped Aziraphale to his feet. They were much taller than him, and their wings were larger, big enough to carry them. “But I like meeting them all. What’s your name, little one?”

“Aziraphale,” Aziraphale replied, a bit surprised that he had a name at all. He felt full to bursting with questions, which was odd, because when he was just cosmic dust, he had not questioned anything. “Who are you?”

The bright figure smiled, visible even through their gleaming. “My name is Raphael. We’ll probably see each other around, if Gabriel doesn’t have his way.”

“Raphael.” The everywhere-voice was gentle but firm, a warning kind of tone.

Raphael sighed. “I’m sorry, Creator. Shall I take him to the others?”

“No, Michael will. Help me with this next galaxy.”

Raphael squeezed Aziraphale’s hand and blinked out of existence. Aziraphale blinked, surprised—but another figure was approaching, through the inky darkness that was alleviated only by stars and the soft white glowing fluff beneath their feet. “Hello,” the figure said, briskly. “What is your name?”

“Aziraphale,” he replied, suddenly shy. Raphael had seemed kind, the everywhere-voice had been gentle, but this figure seemed to radiate sharpness.

The figure nodded, making their halo bob. “Alright, child, follow me.”

Aziraphale followed, trotting to keep up with the figure’s long strides. His wings, small and new, fluttered in an attempt to help. The glowing fluff rose around them, swirling and cool against Aziraphale’s skin, and when it parted they stood in a place full of green and light.

Aziraphale gaped, stunned. “Oh,” he breathed. “Oh, this is… _beautiful_.”

“It is well enough,” said the figure coolly. They had reformed, into a bipedal creature much like Aziraphale, except they had long hair pinned up on their head and gold on their face. “This is just the first test. But the angels are gathered here. Alright, Aziraphale, make yourself at home. I’m sure we’ll find a use for you at some point.”

And they vanished, just as Raphael had.

Aziraphale clasped his hands and frowned, looking around a little nervously. This place was very beautiful, full of nice scents and pleasing shapes and colors—but there were no other angels that he could see. He stepped forward, tentatively, to walk down the bare brown path that twined through the tall shapes, shaded by their heavily-greened limbs.

As he walked, he found the names of things coming into his mind: trees, leaves, bark, nuts; bushes, grass, flowers, seeds; fruit, berries, stream, dirt. He was surprised, and then curious, and stopped to kneel, getting dirt on his robe, to look at a flower more closely. He wanted to know if focusing on one thing would make the knowledge happen faster.

The flower was orange and yellow and black and had five long petals and long stamens and a dark green stem and leaves and as Aziraphale touched one silky petal the name came to him: Lily. This flower was a lily.

He smiled, and turned to the bush beside it. The knowledge came quickly; blackberry bush, and blackberries were tangy, sweet berries that were purplish-blue, not truly black. He picked one plump berry and popped it into his mouth.

The explosion of flavor made him rock back on his heels, amazed. As he chewed it, he felt a measure of something exciting and invigorating—joy.

He immediately scrambled to his feet and looked around, eager to find more things to eat. The knowledge pouring into his mind told him that many of the plants were not wholesome for him; but he spied another bush, smaller and off the path a ways, that had little red berries on it. He stepped delicately over to it, plucked a strawberry, and ate it.

Another rush of flavor, another jolt of joy. He ran his tongue over his teeth, getting out the last scrap of berry-skin, and grinned in excitement.

But as he turned, eager for more, he found himself facing another figure, like Raphael and the other one, only this one had hair shaved to the barest stubble, and they were much darker in color, though the gold on their face winked brightly in the light.

“You’re the newest, then?” the figure asked, looking Aziraphale over. “I’m Uriel. Michael told me your name. Well, come on, let’s go meet the others.”

Aziraphale followed them quietly, though he looked around at everything with great wonder. The flood of knowing had slowed to a trickle, and when they stepped into a sudden meadow, it ceased. Aziraphale was too surprised to really notice.

There were a great many angels here, walking, sitting on the grass, standing; some were in groups, some were in pairs, some were alone. The ones closest noticed Uriel and bowed to them deeply. Uriel nodded to them, then turned to Aziraphale. “Wander at your leisure, but stay away from Lucifer. He’s out of favor right now.”

“Who is Lucifer?” Aziraphale asked, puzzled.

Uriel jerked their chin at one end of the meadow, where a figure of pure light with many wings moved restlessly, as if pacing back and forth. “That’s Lucifer. See you soon, Aziraphale.” And Uriel vanished.

Aziraphale frowned slightly; he didn’t know why, but it was a little annoying that others kept vanishing. He shrugged inwardly and turned back to the meadow, wringing his hands. He felt very shy, looking at all these angels who didn’t even seem to notice him, now that Uriel was gone.

“Hello, Aziraphale!”

He jumped and turned, and found himself smiling. “Raphael! Hello.”

Raphael had long red hair half braided and half loose, and clever brown eyes in a mobile face. They leaned on a staff, upon which twined a large green snake. The snake flicked its tongue at Aziraphale, then eased down the staff to slither up Raphael’s arm. The angel didn’t even seem to notice. “I see Michael just left you without introducing you to anyone,” Raphael said, eyeing Aziraphale contemplatively. “Oh well, that just means I have the pleasure of introducing you. Come on, let’s go talk to some people.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure how close to stick to Raphael’s side, not wanting to make the other angel uncomfortable, but he wanted to keep up. And the snake had made it across Raphael’s shoulders, to lean down and inspect Aziraphale. Aziraphale hesitantly offered his hand for the snake to sniff.

“Mind she doesn’t bite you,” Raphael warned Aziraphale. “She’s not venomous, but it’s not pleasant to be bitten by any snake with large teeth.”

The snake flicked her tongue against Aziraphale’s fingers, deemed them acceptable, and raised herself to drape around Raphael’s neck. Aziraphale found himself smiling again; Raphael noticed, and smiled back, before stopping and saying to the duo of angels bowing to them, “Oh stop it, I told you already not to bow to me. Ariel, Nanael, this is Aziraphale. He’s new born. Aziraphale, this is Ariel and Nanael. Will you see him settled in, please?”

“Of course, Great One,” Ariel replied diffidently.

Raphael sighed as if annoyed, then smiled at Aziraphale again. “I’ll see you later, I suppose. Good luck.” They patted his shoulder and walked away, towards the pacing light named Lucifer. Aziraphale resisted the urge to rub his shoulder as he turned back to Ariel and Nanael, who looked at him with unconcealed scorn. Aziraphale drew himself up and said in a voice that did not waver, “Hello.”

“He’s like that with everyone, you know,” Nanael told him shortly. “He’s the nicest archangel.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale felt quite a bit of confusion at this information. “Thank you for telling me. What’s an archangel?”

The two others looked suddenly surprised. “Archangels are the high ones,” Ariel replied. “They are closest to God. Well, Metatron is closer, but that’s because they are God’s scribe.”

“Who is God?”

Now other angels looked, their expressions ranging from shock to horror to distaste. Ariel frowned as Nanael said sharply, “God is the Creator, the All-Mighty, the Ruler. God shaped you. You owe obedience to Her.”

“Why?” Aziraphale asked.

Someone grabbed the back of his neck, hard, and hissed in his ear, “Stop asking questions! You’ll only get in trouble!”

“Thank you, Zophiel, that is enough,” Ariel said coldly. Turning his eyes to Aziraphale again, his face hardened. “You owe Her obedience because that is what She created you for. No more questions.”

Aziraphale nodded, though he had many other questions ready to bubble over. The hand on the back of his neck fell away, but when he turned his head, no one was near. In fact, most angels were moving away from him, not meeting his eyes. Aziraphale felt suddenly very alone and small.

He looked for Raphael, but the archangel was nowhere to be seen.

~

A long time later, Aziraphale was sitting on a rock by the stream, preening his wings. They had grown fast, and were now almost big enough to carry him. He didn’t know how much time had passed; there was no way to mark it, and he was frightened of asking more questions.

Other angels had been nice, but most would hardly look at him. He assumed this was because of his questions. He would have to repress them, then; he would have to _make_ himself obedient. But what was he supposed to _do_? Just lazing around in a meadow wasn’t really interesting. Foraging in the woods had given him several more lovely tastes, but the joy of eating had vanished quickly, and now he sat by the stream and preened, troubled.

“What’s wrong, little one?”

Aziraphale started, then looked away, as Raphael walked up to him. The snake was wrapped around the staff, asleep. “Nothing,” Aziraphale said brightly to the stream, “Nothing’s wrong.”

Raphael sighed and crouched beside him, wings spread for balance. His snake woke and slithered down his arm again to cross his shoulders and sniff Aziraphale’s trembling wing.

“Aziraphale, I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong,” Raphael told him patiently.

Aziraphale’s wings ruffled and settled again in a tighter mantling gesture, almost hiding him from the archangel. “I just… have questions,” he whispered, tugging his feathers.

There was a little silence. And then Raphael sighed again. “So do I, little one. So does everyone. God laid down the rule when the first angels were born that we must obey Her; but I like to think She’s a little more relaxed now that there are more of us. What are your questions? I think I can answer some.”

Aziraphale opened his wings, surprised, to stare at Raphael, who looked steadily back. All those questions Aziraphale had been hiding stopped tumbling around, and went quiet. One rose, building in his chest, until it burst out like a flung javelin. “Why?! Why was I made? Why were _any_ of us made? What are we supposed to _do_? You archangels, I know you have reasons, but what about the rest of us? Are we just meant to mill around and be—be entertainment?”

“No,” Raphael said gently, “You’re not entertainment. You’re company. God was lonely, so She made us, the angels, to be Her companions. To help Her create the universe. Now, I admit, you younger angels haven’t got much to do _yet_ —but you will, when God finishes. She’ll give everyone a job soon enough, you’ll see.”

“Why do I have to obey Her?” Aziraphale asked, after he had thought a little more. “If we’re Her companions, why does She want us to do as She says without asking?”

Raphael shrugged, looking sad. “I don’t know. She is a lot nicer now, though; I think She likes having people around to talk to. It must have been awful, being alone in the Nothing. Lucifer is planning to approach Her with some of his own questions soon. Would you like to come with us?”

Aziraphale rocked back and forth for a moment, thinking, then shook his head. “No, thank you. She probably won’t listen to me.”

Raphael looked sadder still. “Hmm. Alright. Well—oh!” The world suddenly went dark, and Aziraphale stood up, alarmed, automatically reaching to find Raphael. The archangel’s hand grabbed his, steady and warm, and Aziraphale’s heart stopped pounding quite so hard. “It’s alright, Aziraphale. She said She had a new idea. A way to mark time; light and dark. She’s calling them day and night. There’s nothing to be frightened of.” Raphael stepped closer and wrapped his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. “It’s alright.”

Aziraphale nodded, but he was still trembling—and he wasn’t sure all of it was fear.

“Come on, let’s go back to the others. Michael should have already made the announcement.”

Aziraphale nodded again, and let Raphael lead him out of the dark wood, on to the path. Raphael’s snake rested her head on Aziraphale’s curls.

When they reached the meadow, everyone was bumbling around, tripping over each other and arguing in high, frightened voices. Aziraphale was very glad to be tucked under Raphael’s arm; it kept the other angels from banging into him.

“Hmph,” Raphael said, annoyed, and raised his staff. Light came from it, making everyone blink and turn towards him. “It’s alright, everyone. This is God’s creation. Michael will explain more thoroughly when the light returns.”

Aziraphale realized that a lot of angels were looking—glaring—at him, standing so close to the archangel. He looked down at the ground, tense with unhappiness now. Why were they so _angry_? He was only newly-born; he didn’t know the rules, but no one would tell him. How could he avoid breaking the rules if no one would tell him what they were?

“Michael is going to be mad at you,” an angel nearby told Raphael nervously.

Raphael snorted. “Michael is neglecting her duties to you. If she didn’t want me to tell you, she should’ve done it herself.”

“No, that’s… that’s not what I meant.”

Aziraphale could feel eyes on him. His face began to heat.

“Oh.” Raphael removed his arm from Aziraphale’s shoulders. Aziraphale twisted his hands in his robe to keep from—from—he didn’t know. But he missed Raphael’s closeness.

Eventually, everyone settled, as Raphael moved among the angels with his lit staff, calming them and answering questions. Aziraphale sat beneath a tree at the edge of the meadow and pulled his knees up to his chin, wrapping his arms around his legs. He couldn’t help watching the other angels anxiously, warily, waiting for them to either stop glaring or tell him why they were so angry.

Raphael doused his staff, and pointed up, a shadow darker than black, to the dark sky. Stars shone there, bright and colorful. A comet hurtled past. Aziraphale felt the cosmic dust in him stir restlessly. What would it be like, to return to dust?

Probably very boring. No berries or herbs in the Nothing. No beautiful woods and soft, warm light.

No warm arms to wrap around his shoulders, keeping him safe.

He blushed and braced his forehead on his knees. This was very confusing. Maybe it was just a response to Raphael’s kindness. Yes, that was it; it was just because Raphael was kind while the others glared. It was just because the others were mean that Raphael’s proximity made Aziraphale a little giddy and bewildered.

Nothing more to it. Nothing more complicated than that.

So why wasn’t Aziraphale content with that thought?

~

Many turns of day and night later, God decided She didn’t like that, and Michael came to announce to the angels that they were going to finally be given their assignments while God tweaked Her creations. Aziraphale did not pout when his name wasn’t called. He was… well, not precisely _bored_ , but a little restless. He didn’t have anyone to talk to, because the chief topics among the other angels was gossip about each other, and he wasn’t interested in that. He had brought berries to some who had thawed towards him, and they had agreed that they were interesting, but they weren’t as enthusiastic about them as Aziraphale.

Maybe Aziraphale could be put on creation-duty, making edible things. He’d like that. He had a notion he’d be good at it.

But his name was not called. So he wandered off into the woods, to his rock by the stream, and sat there, preening. His wings were full-grown, now. He was still the youngest angel, but there was nothing to mark him out as such anymore. He pulled a loose feather and inspected it glumly.

A twig cracked, and suddenly Raphael was standing beside him. His snake was curled tightly on his staff, and he looked very tired.

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked without thinking. He had seen Raphael a few times, and they had exchanged greetings, but they did not have any conversations. The archangel hadn’t looked so tired before. Aziraphale started to stand, but Raphael waved a hand for him to remain seated.

“I’m fine,” Raphael replied, with a tight little smile. “How are you? Are the others treating you alright?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “I shared berries with some of them.” He hesitated, then asked nervously, “Are you sure you’re alright? You look… tired.”

Raphael’s tight smile faded. He lowered himself to the ground beside Aziraphale’s rock, his wings dragging in the underbrush and his staff leaning against a tree. “I am,” he answered quietly. “God is too busy to talk to anyone right now. She’s building new creatures, not angels. She won’t tell anyone what they are. So Metatron has taken over ordering us about, and they’re… not very nice. It’s taking a lot of energy to stop Lucifer from fighting Metatron.” Raphael stopped, and smiled wearily at Aziraphale. “You’re too easy to talk to, Aziraphale. You actually listen.”

Aziraphale blushed. “Well, _someone_ has to listen to everyone’s talk,” he grumbled, and Raphael laughed.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the stream burble over the rocks in its bed. Aziraphale ran his feather through his fingers, thinking of his own restlessness, of Raphael’s tiredness, of the other angels not seeming to care about anything other than the stupid rules. He was suddenly moved to ask, “Is there any way that I can help?”

Raphael looked at him, surprised. And then he smiled, and Aziraphale felt distinctly faint at the warmth in that smile. “I don’t think so. But thank you, Aziraphale.”

“You’re welcome,” Aziraphale replied, slightly dazed. He had a suspicion that thanks were not often given by angels. He should offer something in return. Some way to promise that he would help if he could.

His eyes fell on his feather.

He didn’t let himself think. He just thrust the feather at Raphael and stammered, “Here, s-so you know my offer still stands. I’ll help if I can.”

The stare Raphael turned on him was even more surprised, and confused, and wondering. Slowly, he took the feather. And then he wove it into one of his braids, stark white against red. “Thank you again,” he said softly, and Aziraphale blushed again.

~

A long time had passed, and Aziraphale was mingling with the other angels, when a horrific shriek filled the air, and a roar followed, sounds echoing from the endless sky, driving everyone to the ground. Screams came, too; screams that seemed right there in the meadow, before they faded away. A hollow, far-away boom shuddered through the woods, and then finally the air was still.

The angels huddled on the ground, terrified. Aziraphale was the first in the huge mass to sit up, eyes wide, trembling with fear. He felt a sharp sting in his wing, but put it down to nerves. He looked around, and saw Michael stumbling to the edge of the meadow.

There was black liquid on her face, her eyes were wide and unseeing, and her face was drawn and bone white. Her hair had come down out of its careful arrangement on one side, and her robe was scorched. One wing looked broken.

“Everything is fine,” she told the angels, in a high voice that, to Aziraphale, seemed to barely contain her hysteria. “The traitors have—have been banished. The Almighty will explain when all is done. Do not fear.” She turned and limped back into the woods, instead of just vanishing.

Slowly, the other angels picked themselves up. Aziraphale remained on the ground, staring at his own wing.

Where he had pulled the feather that he’d given to Raphael, there was a burn mark that throbbed and ached. There was ash on the surrounding feathers. Carefully, with shaking fingers, he brushed off the ash.

Why did he have such a lingering sense of doom?

~~~\0/~~~

**6,015 years later**

Aziraphale was cooing to Crowley’s plants while Crowley was away. The poor dears were terrified, but they calmed as he complimented them and told them they were doing very well and looked very beautiful and healthy. He watered them, touched their leaves as he had once touched the leaves of the Garden of Eden, tenderly and with joy, and settled in among them to read his book.

Crowley didn’t have much in his flat, but he had told Aziraphale to go ahead and use whatever he wished. So Aziraphale had dragged the throne from Crowley’s office to the garden, to sit in comfort and read the book Anathema had lent him. Crowley had wanted to go see a rock concert, but it was many hours away, and he’d decided to stay overnight. Aziraphale found this very annoying, because he wanted as much time with his demon as possible, now that Heaven and Hell were finally leaving them alone. But Crowley had his reasons. And he’d asked Aziraphale to care for his plants. So he would.

Aziraphale had just finished his book when he heard the kettle in the kitchen. Perking up, he closed the book, set it on the arm of the throne, and hurried to the kitchen for his tea.

The kitchen was sparse and empty, too; Crowley didn’t need food, why keep it around? But Aziraphale had brought tea things and other goodies to tide him over until Crowley returned, so he happily put together a sumptuous meal, and sat at the kitchen table with his food and the memory of that lovely book.

There was blackberry jam. He ate some, and was suddenly reminded of his first blackberry.

It was startling. He hadn’t thought of the Old Days in years. But as he chewed slowly and savored the taste, he found himself remembering more and more. The questions; the meadow; the lily; the glares; the snake; Raphael.

And he realized with a sudden sharp pang that he had never truly forgotten Raphael. He had just been so busy trying not to draw suspicion that he hadn’t dared ask for the archangel’s whereabouts. He felt suddenly guilty; he had been selfish, _selfish_ , to think only of himself, in those days before he was stationed on Earth. Guarding Adam and Eve had taught him that he was capable of caring, and friendship with Crowley had proven that true time and again; but before Eden, he had been too scared of being cast out to ask for his only friend.

Aziraphale sat still, the jam a memory, the delicious odor of his tea not nearly good enough to drive away the guilt.

And then he felt something… _pluck_ at him. Something small. Something familiar.

He stood, and went to the dishwasher, and opened it.

There, laying on the top rack, was a single, pure white feather.

**Author's Note:**

> comments = life, love, and happiness


End file.
